Pearl Harbor Day

Today (well, technically yesterday if you are going by the actual date) is kind of a tricky date to be living in Japan.  For the most part, the Japanese and I dance around the topic of WWII.  We are more concerned with cultural exchanges and modern topics.  But every once in a while I run into a history buff or an ojiichan who has had a drink or two too many and the topic comes up.　This year, with the 70^th anniversary of the atomic bomb drops, increased talk of militarization within Japan, claims of revisionist versions of history, and the violence all around us, this topic has come up a little more than I feel comfortable with.  For the most part there is no bitterness or hatred.  Japanese people are peaceful and kind.  But the subject does make me uncomfortable.  Especially today.

I have only told this to one Japanese person – my grandfather was on a ship in Pearl Harbor.  Before he met my grandmother.  Before he brought his new bride to America.  Before my mother was born.  Before all of that, he stood on the deck of USS Hull, watching hell rain from the sky brought by planes with the rising sun painted bright red on their wings.  He never talked much about that day.  I guess that is the way with most soldiers.  

I can’t imagine.  Hate would be easy.  But Popsie was never one to hate.  And that is what I choose to take from this anniversary (and every other day).  Hate is easy.  Fear is easy.  Forgiveness is hard.  But it is not impossible.  Popsie forgave.  When his daughter decided to move to Tokyo with her husband in 1970, he encouraged her.  Others questioned her decision, but not the man who had seen the worst of the Japanese.    If he were alive when I decided to follow in Okasan’s footsteps in 2014, I am sure he would have showed the same enthusiasm for my choice.  Because Popsie always believed the best about people.

Today is not hard for me because I hold any anger over the events of that day so many years ago. Today is hard for me because I realize how close I came to not existing that day.  Today is hard for me because I love these people and this country, but I can’t help but be reminded that a faction of them do not feel the same way about me.  Today is hard for me because I cannot tell my Japanese friends about Popsie because I don’t have the words.  Today is hard for me because I see Japan, America, and the rest of the world falling to hate and fear.  Today is hard for me because Popsie is gone.  Each year there are fewer and fewer Pearl Harbor survivors to teach us about forgiveness.

Black burgers and other foods you can only find in Japan

Japan has a long history of assimilating things from other cultures.  From religion, to language, to technology, they cherry pick the most useful and culturally acceptable bits, rework these bits within their existing culture, and create something uniquely Japanese.  Whether this is good or bad is a discussion for another time.  But the process does create some very unique things – especially when it comes to food.

With the introduction of McDonalds in 1971 Japan took its first step on the path to becoming a fast food nation – at least in the Western view of things.  Japan has always had a taste for food stalls, deep fried dishes, and convenient food.  But McDonalds opened the door for Pizza Hut, Domino’s, and Burger King and many more.  Taco Bell even tried to conquer the Land of the Rising Sun.  It failed initially, but they are back for a second round as Japanese people discover they really like Mexican style food.  But Japan didn't just adopt these restaurants, keeping their Western style menu intact.  Instead they took one look at the dishes, kept the ones they liked, added soy sauce here, nori there, and corn on everything to create original Japanese food.

When you step up to the counter at McDonalds in Japan you can get a Big Mac and fries.  Or you could try the teriyaki burger.  You can wash it down all down with melon soda or Calpis.  Around Halloween you can dare yourself to try a black burger from McDonalds or Burger King.  Everyone gets in on the holiday themed fun in Japan.  If pizza is more your thing, Pizza Hut offers pizza with tuna, seaweed, and many more combinations that only people in Japan can really appreciate.  Or try Domino's crab gratin, garlic shrimp, or the charcoal grilled chiki-teri with onions, spinach, corn, teriyaki chicken, and mayo.

While many of these sound terrifying, they are actually quite good.  When Japan does something, they tend to do it right.  And Japanizing food is no different.  Crepes and confectionaries have reached new heights of flavor and beauty.  While Baskin Robbins still offers thirty one flavors, many of them include green tea, red beans, and other Japanese favorites.  Like the world of Toriko, our world really is in a gourmet age where people quest for yet unknown flavors.  These flavors are being realized in Japan. 

Japanese people really can’t stand the cold!

“How are you today?”

“I am cold,” my student replies.

I smile and say good, but in my mind, I am shaking my head. It is seventy degrees in the classroom, how in the world can he be cold? But he is. 

The first morning with a touch of chill I walk into a classroom full of students in layers.  Underarmor, their usual long sleeve uniform shirts, school sweater or other light weight jackets, and school blazer on top. They say they are freezing. I keep a straight face, but inside I am giving them the raised eyebrows of disbelief.

For a country that has yet to embrace the concept of central heating, I find it baffling how intolerant Japanese people seem to be when it comes to the cold. And it is not just my students. I saw scarves and light jackets already out when I was still trying not to sweat through my thin t-shirt in the last days of summer. Now, with autumn clearly knocking on the door, the stares have increased when I walk around my neighborhood in shorts. Aren’t you cold, the neighbors ask (in Japanese). No! I think the weather feels great. I am just excited not to be drenched in sweat from just sitting and doing my best not to move. Soon it will be time for a light jacket, then winter will be here and I will be just as layered and freezing as my students, but for now I plan to enjoy every moment of fall before pulling out my sweaters.

Watching rice grow

When I moved to Wakayama the rice fields were empty.  Vast areas of winter browned grasses and weeds that turned mottled green as spring slowly worked its warmth into the soil. 

And then the grass and weeds were chopped and tilled, revealing rich brown soil.  Then came the flooding.  The cocoa powder soil was saturated.  The water stood several inches deep.  When the water cleared you could see snails sliding across the surface of a mud like dark fudge.  The fields stood flooded for quite a while, some were even re-flooded, until it seemed they were meant for mosquito breeding rather than rice growing.

But in early summer the green shoots started to appear.  Neat rows of the most vibrant green in strange geometric patterns to maximize space in fields that weren’t perfectly square.  I happened to see the machine used to plant the rice.  It was a strange, hunched looking insect that pulled the seedlings from a square patch on its back with its many mandibles and shoved them into the soft mud behind itself.  I was fascinated as I watched it crawl through the flooded field on tall, narrow wheels.  Imagine the precision and gentleness needed to transplant tender blades of grass without destroying them. 

As the days grew longer and hotter, the tiny green blades grew taller and thicker.  Soon the expanses of flooded fields became oceans of green.  During the day egrets and herons stalked through the blades, like white ships lost in a rippling green sea.  At night frogs sang from the swampy darkness.  I watch the growth of tadpoles to pollywogs to tiny frogs at the edges of the fields that I passed on my way to word. 

August became September without any change in the temperature.  But there was a change in the rice.  Instead of blades reaching straight to the sky, the heads were bent from the weight of young rice.  As the days imperceptibly shortened, the tiny grains of rice grew bigger.  The heads sagged, moving sluggishly in the gentle breeze where just months before they had danced at the slightest whisper of wind.  Their color changed too.  The bright, spring green had darkened in the summer sun but now had an almost yellow tint.  It was almost harvest time.

Unlike planting, which seemed to take months to get started, harvest moved quickly.  Whole swaths of plants disappeared in a day.  What had once been a sea of green reaching to the horizon was rapidly falling to a very unique combine.  This machine was more like a beetle, square and solid.  Its mandibles, sweeping the ground in front cut the rice in neat swaths.  The cut plants were then carefully laid on their side and fed up a conveyor to have their precious seeds removed.  The now stripped blades were then deposited behind the machine to be collected later.  The harvester moved in tight squares, working from the outside in, until there was nothing left but straw yellowing in the fall sun and bleached stubble protruding from the rich, brown earth like thin yellowish bones.

Now the air was filled with the smell of fall.  The straw was gathered into clumps to dry.  Hung or stacked, the soft smell of decomposing plant material wafted from the fields - like the smell that clings to your clothes after a day raking and playing in the leaf pile.  Mixed in, and eventually overpowering, is the smell of smoke.  Haze clung to the fields and valleys beyond as what is left from this year’s harvest is fired to return nutrients to the soil.  Despite the still warm days, visions of smores, hot coco, and hay rides floated around my brain as the smoke rose into the blue sky.

Finally, the soil was tilled one last time, turning under what was left of the rice plants, exposing the shallow, thick roots now reaching for the sky like sad, tiny fingers in a sad juxtaposition.  The weeds will return in time.  Perhaps there will be snow to cover the naked fields.  Then it will all start again next year.  The only difference is, I won’t be here to watch the rice grow.

The art of giving gifts

Gift giving is a highly stylized art in Japan. Like food, dressing, tea, and any other culturally important event, the Japanese have steeped the exchange of gifts and trinkets in formality and panache. Bows, paper, and even the gifts themselves hold special significance. Every detail, down to the folds of the wrapping paper are ritualized. It is beautiful, yes, but incredibly frustrating for foreigners. Mendokusai.

I have always been a generous person. I give gifts because I want to, not because of social obligations (for the most part). If I see something that reminds me of a person, or something I think they would like, I buy it. These Just Because gifts have no ulterior motives – they are just something I wanted to share with a special someone. Maybe it is food, a trinket, or a gag; but whatever it is, I give it without thought of getting something in return. I don’t keep tallies. 

But this type of gift is a huge problem in Japan. Just Because gifts cause extreme stress and confusion. A gift, any gift, requires a gift in return. And quickly delivered. So when I give a teacher a folder from Ishiyamadera – the place where The Tale of Genji was written – because we have talked at length about the book, I get two in return later that day. When I give another teacher treats for her daughter’s brass band concert, a good luck gift, I get a memo pad and stickers in return. I appreciate these things, but I wish the givers could understand that I did not want anything in return, only to share myself with them. I did not mean to cause them stress or discomfort. I did not want them to spend money or time trying to find an appropriate response gift. I wish they could understand that sometimes we just give because we want to. Because watching them with whatever trinket made us think of them is a gift in and of itself. That sometimes a smile between friends is the greatest gift of all.

Adventures in adulting: Getting a haircut

Living in a foreign country and not speaking the language can make many mundane things incredibly frightening. Trips to the grocery, bank, and post office are monumental tasks that take hours of mental preparation. Doctors and dentists are only sought in true emergencies because the mental stress of trying to get through the visit is worse than the pain or illness. Even something as simple as a haircut takes courage, strength, and a willingness for it all to come out wrong. 

This weekend I got my hair cut.

It took me two months to get the courage to go. This was my third haircut in Japan and by far the most necessary. Summer sun and near constant washing from constant sweating really did a number on my hair. Part of the delay was a worry about funds.  We have had a lot of holidays recently and I have traveled quite a bit. But the larger part was fear. I just wanted a trim, but I had no idea how to communicate that to the stylist.  But finally I bit the proverbial bullet and walked to the salon near my house.

Japanese salons are very different from those I have visited in America. Despite offering the same services, both countries go about it in a completely different way. I was greeted at the door, given a consultation, and presented with a price before a single strand was every cut. I talked with three people before I was ever shown to the barbers chair. My purse was locked in a locker since there were no counters at the individual mirrors. It seemed that everything was designed to be a shared space with stylists filling in where needed instead of being tied to one customer as in the US.

My consultation involved a lot of gestures and onomatopoeia, but I hoped by the end of it that the young man that would be my stylist for the afternoon had at least some idea what I was looking for. I was ushered to another chair and the haircut began. With dry hair.

This was a little confusing for me. I have never had my hair cut dry before. It wasn’t impossible, but there was a good deal of hair floating around. It clung to my nose and the poor stylists clothes. Japanese hair, from my experience, is much coarser than mine.  The hair follicles themselves are much thicker. I don’t think my stylist was quite prepared to deal with my gaijin hair. But he managed it. We got through the cut and moved to the wash.

It was heaven. Pure heaven. Fellas, let me tell you something; women don’t pay forty or fifty dollars for a haircut. They pay that for the scalp massage they get with the wash.  There is just something about having another person wash your hair and scratch and rub all over your scalp. And this, like so many service related things, is soooo much better in Japan. I will admit, the lack of human contact in this country made me enjoy the ten minute pampering that much more, but it was also a very thorough and concentrated massage.

Afterward I was escorted back to the cutting chair and given a brief shoulder massage before my hair was blown dry and styled. In the end I looked fabulous. The cut was just right and I felt much more relaxed after my brief massage.  

I will still have to screw up my courage next time I need a haircut. Or to go to the bank.  Or the post office. But I am glad to be staying in such a caring, attentive, and helpful country.

Wakarahen: Public vs. private behaviors in Japan

They always tell you to be ready for new things when you are in a foreign country.  Each culture has its own set of ideas for what is appropriate and inappropriate in any situation.  You accept that there will be some things you find difficult or nonsensical, that you will probably be offended by or offend other with, unintentionally of course, at some point or another in your travels.  This is just part and parcel of being a world citizen.

When I came to Japan, I did my best to study up on some of the little, everyday things that might come up.  No wearing shoes in the house.  Check.  Blowing your nose in public is rude.  Check.  You should cover your mouth when you laugh.  Check (sometimes).  Don’t eat or drink while you walk.  Big fat X on this one.  No talking on phone while riding public transportation.  Check.  No one calls anyway.

I was prepared for all of these things and many more I was sure I would discover when I got here.  I did not want to offend anyone or make them more uncomfortable with my presence than I had to.  What I was not prepared for, however, where the things Japanese people do that go against my American ideas.  Mainly things I consider private behaviors that are unabashedly public here in Japan.

Because I am living rather than just traveling in this wonderful, exotic land, I run into many cultural differences the average traveler will never experience.  Still, after a year, these things still throw me for a loop.

I think the one I see most often, almost every day I am at work, is teachers brushing their teeth in the staffroom after lunch.  Now I am all for good dental hygiene, but it is a little awkward to see and hear someone walking around the office brushing their teeth.  At both of my schools, my desk is by the communal sink.  So it is even more awkward when the teachers spit, rinse, and spit again right by my workspace.  It is not that I have anything against clean, healthy teeth.  There are several dental professionals in my family.  But this behavior is strange and a little upsetting to me. I feel like oral hygiene should be attended to in the bathroom, not the office.  Something that takes place behind closed doors when you are not in the comfort of your own home.  But then again, many aspects of hygiene are far more public in Japan than in America.  Taking a bath for example…

While we are on the subject of personal care, another private behavior comes to mind.  Blowing your nose in public is considered bad manners in Japan.  Most guide books cover this.  Instead, there is a constant sniffing and snorting all through cold, flu, and allergy season.  This is annoying, but you learn to tune it out – or wear headphones.  No, the culturally upsetting thing for me is how men will casually pick their noses here.  As an avid anime fan, I was often confused by the prevalence of this habit in a certain type of male character.  Usually a somewhat disreputable or immature would be seen with a finger almost constantly up his nose.  Probably the best example of this is Gintoki Sakata from Gintama.  While he is the protagonist's protagonist, he is also considered, immature, lazy, and foolish.  Otosan would call him a jabronies.  Maybe man child is more PC.  I thought this was just a tell for a certain type of anime character, like a tsundere with a sharp tongue or an otaku with glasses and a headband.  Needless to say, I was shocked when I saw it in real life.  It is not something happening everywhere, of course.  But every once in a while you will see a certain type of man shamelessly digging for gold in his nasal cavity in front of the whole world.

I must admit, many of the behaviors that I find uncomfortable are perpetuated by men, or boys.  My male students will routinely undo their pants and tuck in their shirts as they stand to answer my questions or otherwise participate in my classes.  This has to do with the fact that their uniform shirts should be tucked in at all times, especially when speaking in front of the class, but shirts seldom stay tucked once initial roll has been called and they take their seats.  Custom dictates that they should address me with a school appropriate appearance.  To do this, they have to tuck in their shirts.  Which they do, while they are talking.  This is always very uncomfortable for me since it involves them undoing belts and buttons.  No one else seems phased by this behavior, though, and since I have even seen adult males do it, I assume it is not as culturally shocking to them as it is to me.

Over the past year I have come to understand that there is a definite difference in how Americans and Japanese see male nudity.  In America, seeing a shirtless man is not a big deal, but changing and rearranging of clothes tends to take place behind closed doors.  Not so in Japan.  And it is much more than just tucking in shirts.  Men and boys freely strip down in many semi-public places, much to the embarrassment of foreign females.  When I participated in an evening of kendo, I was asked to change in a backstage area – even though I was just putting the uniform on over my clothes.  When I came out, I was confronted by a group of middle aged men stripping all the way down to their tighty whities in clear view of wives, mothers, daughters, and me.  Once I was finishing up class just after the bell rang.  I was waiting for the Japanese English Teacher, who was discussing a recent test with a student, so we could return to the teachers room.  I was erasing the board while I waited.  When I turned around the boys, high school boys, were halfway out of their uniforms as they changed for gym.  I bolted.  This was not my first experience with students changing in the classroom – I would often show up for my first grade class last year to find boys and girls in various stages of undress.  While still unsettling, it was in no way as shocking as turning around to find a room full of half naked teenage boys. 

I will admit Americans can be a little prudish when it comes to nudity.  Okay, very prudish.  We seem uncomfortable in our own skin.  It is something that I find sad, but also a habit I have been unable to completely break in myself.  I have gotten to the point where I can go to the public bath without too much anxiety, but the Japanese acceptance of nudity can still leave me speechless.  Especially when it comes to children.  It is nothing to see a naked child in a public park.  During summer they run through the fountain at Osakajo.  On the beaches you see boys and girls like little Asian Coppertone ads, their bare bottoms so white compared to their tan torsos, as their Okasan rubs them down after a swim.  Seeing this is jarring, but it also reminds me how different our countries are.  Growing up I ran naked through sprinklers set up in the front yard far into elementary school. This was in the 1990s.  Things like that no longer happen in America.  We have become jaded.  Too afraid, too protective of our precious children.  And with good reason.  America can be a frightening country.

But that is a discussion for another time.  Instead, let me close with this… While I may find some Japanese behaviors unsettling, I understand this does not make them wrong.  Just different.  I wish I could address and/or stop some of them from happing in front of me (especially the ones involving male students), but I realize calling attention to them would only cause confusion.  In many ways I feel pointing out these differences would destroy some of my purpose in being here.  I wanted to get out of my cultural box.  It was my choice.  And, uncomfortable or not, that is what I am doing.  It is also what I am doing to the Japanese people around me when I eat and walk or laugh wholeheartedly without covering my mouth.  After all, a little cultural discomfort is good for everyone once in a while.

The foreign language section

I have always been an avid reader. I would read anything I could get my hands on. My love of books led me to write when I couldn’t find the stories I wanted or when the characters didn’t behave like I thought they should. But for a while I had stopped reading. Books were expensive and I didn’t have money for more than a few dozen a year. I could have gotten a library card, sure, but there was more to it than that and I don’t really want to go into it. Suffice it to say, I just wasn’t reading.

But that all changed when I came to Japan. I started downloading books on Japanese culture and history on my Kindle. This kept me occupied for a while ate up the minutes on trains and busses, but that cold lump of circuits and megabytes has never held my interest like a real book. And I had precious few of these. I ran out in a matter of months.  So I slid back into the habit of not reading. I wrote, people watched, or just day dreamed as the world slid by the windows on my long public transit journeys.

Then I moved to Wakayama. On one of my first recon missions, I found a Book Off – a chain of used bookstores. On a whim I stepped inside and asked for the foreign language books. Eigo no hon wa doko desu ka? It took the clerk a minute to realize I wanted books in English and not books on English, but then he led me to a small section in the back corner of the store. 

I guess the foreign language section of any used bookstore will always look the same – a strange conglomeration of genres, topics, and languages. It was the same at the small, cozy bookstore I worked at in college. Cookbooks, textbooks, nonfiction, children’s – all nestled together on one shelf. A kaleidoscope of shapes and interests. Running your finger over the spines, it is impossible to get a sense of who the previous owner was.  It is like literary schizophrenia. And it is beautiful.

Standing in front of the foreign language section in this Japanese bookstore, I wondered what kind of gaijin traded these books. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, One Hundred Years of Solitude, a book about the crown princess of Japan, Gone With the Wind, a Sookie Stackhouse novel, and Harry Potter in three languages. So many books that tell so many different stories. I take home as many of the fiction titles I can find that interest me – Opera Book Club books and best sellers mostly, but some classics and some obscure titles from authors who probably no one has ever heard of. Walking to the counter I have an arm full of reader’s ADD. And I wonder what they will think of me when I bring my own assortment of books to trade in.

Surviving zombies, Jokers, and lines at USJ

Growing up in the Dallas/Fort Worth area, I was spoiled.  There were sports stadiums, beautiful parks, well respected museums for history and art, good food, and lots of entertainment.  There was never a lack of things to do.  But my favorite was always the amusement parks.  Summer vacation was spent at Six Flags and Wet N’ Wild (now Hurricane Harbor).  We got season passes each year for Christmas and we definitely got our money’s worth.  

Because of this, I became a sort of theme park elitist.  While my college friends were crazy for Disney World, I just scoffed.  Give me Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck any day.  I came to love roller coasters, the bigger the better.  Shows were just what you did when it was raining or if you really, really wanted to see it.  The soul of theme parks were the rides, baby!

When I moved away from the Metroplex, I began to realize how amazing my hometown really was.  I had so many opportunities and amusements that the rest of my peers just didn’t share.  But I digress; let me get back to what this post is really about – my trip to Universal Studios Japan in Osaka.

Last October (yes, I am really far behind), I went to USJ with a friend for her birthday.  I was pretty excited to go.  I hadn’t been to an amusement park since visiting Sea World with my sister quite a few years before.  The fact that USJ has The Wizarding World of Harry Potter was also part of the excitement.  I really, really, wanted to see Hogwarts. 

We got to USJ no problem.  Kantan desu yo.  Living near Tennoji, I had easy access to the Osaka Loop Line which has a train that will take you directly to USJ.  So we were quickly and efficiently ushered to USJ.  Us and several thousand other people.

And this was the main problem with USJ.  There were lines for everything.  And we aren’t talking like a thirty minute wait.  We are talking three plus hours.  We spent the entire day at the park.  In that time we only managed to ride four rides.  In hindsight, spending the extra money on the pass that lets you skip to the front of the line would have been money well spent. 

Not that the waiting was all bad.  Because it was close to Halloween, there were lots of people in costume in the park.  Standing in line, my friend and I were able to people watch and psychoanalyze the unsuspecting Japanese people around us. 

The first thing that struck us, as we stood in line for tickets to Bio Hazard the Real, was how much effort went into the costumes.  These were not just something you pickup at Walmart or Spirit (that seasonal Halloween store that shows up in the mall every year).  There was attention to detail that would give any Hollywood costume designer or makeup artist a run for their money.  We saw the typical vampires, zombies, and bogiemen, but there were also a lot of original costumes or at least characters we were unfamiliar with. 

But this observation led to another.  You didn’t see just one zombie or vampire – you always saw a group of them.  The group costume is becoming more popular in America, I know this.  My last few Halloweens, I have gone as part of group (it was even a zombie theme one year).  The difference here was that the costumes were not based on a theme, in many cases they were based on a single character.  So instead of an Alice in Wonderland theme where you would have an Alice, a Queen of Hearts, a Mad Hatter, and so on, you had a group of five Alices.  All dressed the same.  This even extended to couples.  We saw one group with three identical witches and three identical demons in very tight body suits.  This struck us as a little odd.  We couldn’t imagine planning to show up in the same costume.  I mean, that is like the biggest fear when you show up to a Halloween party in a store bought costume.  It made us reflect on the independent nature of America versus the more homogonous attitude of Japan.  This train of thought kept us busy as we slowly moved through the line.

Now this is the second thing you need to know about going to USJ, you have to stand in line to get a ticket to enter places.  When we finally got to the front of the line we realized it was not to actually go to Bio Hazard the Real.  It was to get a ticket for a later time when we could go into the attraction.  It was the same with The Wizarding World.  We had to wait in line for a ticket to go into the area.  This caught us by surprise.  In actuality, it is quite efficient.  It means that the areas aren’t too crowded since only so many can go in at a time (but there is no rule about coming out once you are in), but it meant we had to watch the clock and judge if we had time to stand in line for this ride or that ride.  So, tip number two would be to get these tickets out of the way early so you can plan around them.

We did finally get into The Wizarding World.  We got to drink butter beer (oishii!) and eat real ribs and corn on the cob.  It was almost like home, something both of us were needing right around our birthdays.  And for once, the three hour line was actually worth it.  Well, not really.  The line was still epicly long, but the actual ride was one of the best I have ever been on.  I highly recommend the Forbidden Journey ride.  It is really like magic; like you are flying with Harry and being attacked by big spiders.  I would have ridden it a million times if it didn’t mean standing in line for three million hours.

Just be sure to get in the right line.  We got in the wrong line the first time and ended up taking a tour of the castle.  Not that this was a bad thing.  It was really cool, but with Japan’s obsession with photography, this ended up taking a lot longer than it should have.  However, it did us lead us to another realization about Japanese people.  We were behind this group of young people – maybe high school or college.  As the line inched closer and closer to the castle, they spent the time taking selfies.  I am not sure how their phones did not run out of memory.  They must have taken a picture with each half inch.  Eventually, my friend and I started making faces behind them to amuse ourselves.  Now this wasn’t so much an observation on Japanese culture, but on youth in general.  Young people in America are just as attached to their phones as those here in Japan.

I guess that is enough for this post.  It kind of spun round in circles.  Universal Studios Japan was a lot of fun, despite the lines.  It was a great chance to people watch and philosophize about humanity.  While there were less rides, especially roller coasters, than I was hoping for, there was a lot of work put into the atmosphere.  You really felt like you were at Hogwarts in the Wizarding World, you could actually believe you were being chased by a raptor in Jurassic Park.  With it being close to Halloween we were pretty lucky because Halloween isn’t something that people in Japan really celebrate.  It was a little slice of home.  It brought up a lot of soul searching and deep thinking, not something usually associated with a theme park, but it only enriched the experience (and gave us something to talk about in line).  So I guess I would recommend going to USJ if you are in Osaka and have a good chunk of spare change.  Splurge and buy the fast pass and get in the lines early.  Then just enjoy your time watching the people.

Up close and personal in Japan

Summer is a time for matsuri in Japan.  There are parades and festivals throughout the year, but it seems the heat of summer brings out the best festivals.  There are snow cones, called kakigori, and ice cold beer.  Children’s games and lots of delicious fair food.  During the day there are parades and at night there are fireworks. 

Wakayama has a particularly old matsuri held around the second week in May every year.  Called Wakamatsuri, this festival celebrates Shogun Tokugawa Ieyasu who has a special connection to Kishu-Toshogu Shrine (it was built by one of his descendants).  The main celebration is a parade filled with many groups of people in various traditional costumes.  The parade itself is four hundred years old and many of the costumes are beyond vintage, so I was lucky to have sunny weather the day of the parade this year.

The parade itself was not huge (like Mardi Gras or Kishiwada Danjiri), but the level of participation was impressive.  There were dancers, singers, musicians, warriors, sumo wrestlers, maidens, monsters, and many more.  It was truly a spectacle.  But what struck me the most was how accessible it all was.  Parades in America always seemed like an us and them type relationship.  Even in my small South Dakota town, the annual town parade was more about performance than interacting.  Larger parades have physical barriers to separate those watching the parade and those in the parade, but even small town events seem to have a mental barricade between these two groups.

But this wasn’t the case at Wakamatsuri.  The parade made a lot of stops (carrying a god on your shoulders can be hard work) and during these the parade members talked, laughed, and took pictures with the crowd.  Granted, many of these were friends and family, Wakayama is essentially a big small town, but even the gaijin were invited into the merriment.  We were allowed to touch, photograph, and play with traditional (and probably antique) regalia.  We were plied with sake and snacks along with the rest of the participants by a local business.  The barriers, mental and physical, were removed.

I know some of the larger parades still have barriers.  This is a safety thing.  In Kishiwada groups can get those danjiri going really fast and there can be serious injuries if an unwitting spectator were to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  But the emotional barrier between spectators and participants, those watching and those being watched, seems nonexistent in Japan.  Even at the bigger festivals, it seems like everyone is just there to have a good time.

Finding a universal humanity

I came to Japan in search of understanding difference.  Asian culture seemed like something so unlike the culture I was raised in.  Philosophy, medicine, art, beauty, community – to a westerner, the Japanese mindset in all areas seemed excitingly strange.  However, as days turned to weeks and weeks to months, I started to realize something; despite very different cultures, Japanese people are just like us.

It started with a stroll through Osaka-jo koen one of my first weekends in Japan.  The day was sunny and hot, like a perfect summer day pretty much anywhere.  The park was crowded with families and groups.  People were picnicking, biking, running, and playing.  A father was teaching his little girl to ride a bike, while his wife looked on from a blanket in the shade with a younger child in her lap.  The man held tight to the back of the bike seat, jogging along as the little girl pedaled.  They moved a little faster.  Then faster.  His hand left the seat, but he continued to run behind her.  She didn’t realize he let go till she wobbled a little bit.  Then he had hold of her again before she crashed.  I smiled, trying to remember my own first ride sans training wheels.  Had Otosan had the same grin on his face?  The same flash of panic as he let go the first time?  Had Okasan watched from the porch of our house?

I continued toward the castle.  I passed groups of picnickers, laughing and sharing stories over food and drink.  It was odd to see small camp grills in a public park.  Even odder to see men and women drinking beer in what is essentially a city park (as opposed to campground or lake/river space where such behavior is acceptable).  But despite these slight differences, the feeling of fun and camaraderie was the same as countless BBQs, lake days, and Fourth of July picnics.  Some groups even called to me as I passed; asking where I was from and wishing me a good visit in their wonderful town.

All around me children ran, laughed, and shreiked with delight.  Much of this joyful cacophony was focused around the large fountain at the park entrance.  Children in various states of undress splashed thorugh the clear, cool water.  Parents watched with a mixture of pride and envy.  Part of me was shocked by this.  Some children were quite naked.  But I quickly realized this fear was unnecessary in Japan.  After all, I ran naked though sprinklers in my own front yard when I was much older than some of these kodomotachi.  America was different then.  It seems Japan still is.  While I did not dally, I was still a little uncomfortable, I walked on remember times Imoto and I had rolled up our pants and waded into fountains for a cooling respite from the summer heat.  Even in places as classy as the Louvre, this is a common occurance in the heat of summer.

What started as an excursion to a unique Japanese landmark ended up highlighting how similar people can be.  It was a humanity lesson I greatly appreciated.  It also made me what to find more of the similarities between me and the people of my new home.  After all, it was universal humanity I came to find.

But what is universal humanity?  To me, it is the core emotions that all humans share – love, hate, envy, joy, happiness, sadness…  We are all built the same – same parts, same wiring.  The differences in appearance are superficial, figuratively only skin deep.  Our cultures shape our emotions, but our hearts are universal.  As I spent more time with Japanese friends, I was realizing just how universal.

Several months into being here, I was invited to be part of my local Danjiri celebration.  This was a huge honor and a lot of fun.  We spent all day pulling and pushing a large wooden shrine through the neighborhood, making a huge racket and having a blast.  That night, when we finally returned to the temple, there was a feast for everyone involved.  Sushi and fried food platters were shared.  There was beer, of course, and sake provided by the temple (Japanese gods love sake just as much as I do).  We ate and drank late into the night.  Despite the language barrier, I was welcomed and engaged in this very special experience.  Jokes were told and stories exchanged.  There was arm wrestling and children’s games.  There were even tests of courage when the young men dared each other to eat quantities of wasabi and spicy mustard.  As I looked around the room, I realize that this was just like the many family parties my own kazoku had hosted.  Children darted among the seated adults, communal charges for the evening.  The older men gathered near the head of the tables with glasses of stronger alcohol, swapping stories and shaking the shoji with their deep, rich laughter.  The younger people also banded together.  It was this group that told the loudest jokes and caused the most mayhem (clearing space for wrestling or rolling on the floor laughing as someone chokes and gags on wasabi).  And the women were everywhere – talking, filling glasses, offering handkerchiefs for watering eyes.  For a moment I saw Christmas at Grandma’s, Fourth of July in Elgin, and summer evenings at the ranch.  For a moment I was no longer in Japan, but rather somewhere timeless and placeless – an ethereal moment of every party, celebration, and banquet throughout time.  A universal humanity. 

My understanding and appreciation for this undercurrent of sameness has grown over the months.  Instead of focusing on the differences, as I did when I first arrived, I now revel in the similarities I find in each interaction.  For Hanami, I noticed the bentos instead of picnic baskets and the neat rows of shoes at the corner of each tarp, but I was more enthralled with the laughter and sense of friendship.  At matsuri I am blown away by the costumes and pageantry, but my eyes seek out the smiles of the performers and the wonder in the expressions of the children.  As the fireworks boom and blossom overhead, I marvel at the shapes and colors I have never seen in America, but I can’t help but smile as my Japanese friends react with the same ooohs and ahhs as the ones tumbling from my own lips.  No matter how different our outside appearance or our culture, our hearts beat the same.  Hearts are universal.

The skies are much friendlier in Japan

Air travel has always been an important part of my life.  The massive amount of traveling I have been able to do is mostly due to some great retirement benefits Okasan received from her years with American Airlines.  Because of this, we were able to fly standby all over the world.  Later, I also worked for American, but only for a short time.  I worked in baggage, so I learned the ins, outs, and secrets of the things that go on after your bag disappears behind the counter.  It was a physical job, though, and incredibly inflexible for the low man on the totem pole, so it only lasted about six months before I left to work in education.  So I know a thing or two about airlines.  Which is why I was incredibly impressed with domestic air travel in Japan.

I have done the majority of my traveling within Japan by train.  It is efficient, comfortable, convenient, and a bit of a novelty for an American.  I enjoy watching the landscape zip past, the brief glimpses of towns and communities at each stop.  But recently I found it necessary to fly.  In less than a month, I had gone from no domestic flights to four.  All to the same places – Osaka to Narita and back – but on two different carriers – JetStar and Peach.

As with most things in Japan, I was impressed with the efficiency and degree of customer service provided by Japanese companies.  Check in was quick and easy.  The staff were helpful and friendly.  Instructions were given Japanese and English (this was especially well done by JetStar who had very proficient bilingual cabin crew).  The ground crew even bowed and waved as we taxied away from the gate.  I found this especially nice since I only waved to a handful of people, mostly children, when I was escorting planes.

But perhaps the most shocking differences of my air travels in Japan was the difference in airport security.

America is a frightened nation.  I have come to realize we are afraid, sometimes overly so, when it comes to children and families.  Some very terrible things have happened in America – I grew up in a world with child abductions, school shootings, terrorist attacks, and so much violence.  So it is always jarring for me when the safety measures and general fear I have become accustomed to are suddenly gone.  At first I am shocked and nervous.  But then I get a little euphoric – this is what trust is, this is the freedom and innocence that have slowly disappeared over my lifetime.  Nowhere have I felt this more than at the domestic terminal at KIX.  I did not have to cram all my liquids into a tiny quart bag.  I did not have to take off my shoes and worry about my privacy being violated by x-rays or pat downs.  I didn’t even have to throw out my grande latte, the only thing keeping me upright for our early morning flight.  Just open the top and give the security personnel a cursory sniff of the contents.  Now there were still prohibited items – gas, knives, explosives, etc. – but so many of the rules and hoops I have come to expect with air travel were just not there.

Sadly, as Japan moves to take a bigger role on the world stage, I am afraid this sense of safety will slowly erode.  A man recently set himself on fire on a shinkansen train, killing himself and one other and injuring over a dozen.  Two Japanese citizens were beheaded by terrorists last year.  The country has been rocked by the murders of several junior high students this spring and summer.  The image of a preternaturally safe Japan may be fading somewhat in today’s hyper connected and disenfranchised society, but as an American used to much worse, the feeling of safety and trust I find in Japan are a breath of fresh air.  It also means I don’t have to figure in quite so much time for getting through security when I decide to fly.

Pieces of me

Life is not a one way exchange.  We do not only receive, we also leave pieces of ourselves in the places we inhabit.

I returned to my old house in Osaka this weekend for a party with Otose and my flat mates.  It was a wonderful evening of music, food, and friendship.  There were physical pieces I had left behind – spices used for the food, an umbrella “borrowed” from my previous school on a day I forgot mine still hanging outside the front door, dishes and other things left behind in the move.  But there were also intangible pieces, memories and emotions, I had left with the people I shared my life and space with for several months. 

We don’t often get a chance to really see how much of ourselves we have left with others.  Perhaps it is the cultural difference.  Or maybe my sense for these things is heightened due to the special nature of this adventure.  Whatever the reason, spending an evening with these wonderful women made me realize the give and take of life – the pieces of ourselves we exchange with each experience.  And although I still feel I came out ahead in the bargain, I was glad to see how much they cherished these pieces of me.

Take me out to the ball game…

Just like America, spring is time for baseball in Japan.  The days grow longer and hotter, the cicadas start singing, and through it all there is the call of strike, ball, safe, and out.  The thwak of a pop fly snagged by a leather glove.  The clink of a grand slam on its way out of the park.  The cheers of the crowd, the dugout, and the announcer.

School is winding down as natsu yasumi, summer vacation, approaches.  After final exams, classes are pretty much lame duck sessions, just filling time required by the government.  Instead, students and teachers buzz with excitement.  The prefectural baseball tournament starts this week! 

The last hurrah for third year students, they practice tirelessly, determined to make a good showing in the last games of their high school careers.

In Japan, sports and extracurricular activities work a bit differently.  In their first year, students join a club, a single activity that will define their identity and schedule for the rest of their enrollment.  In Japan, clubs, even sports, are run by students.  They arrange their activities, budgets, and training regimens.  There is a coach, but most of the responsibility falls on the students.  Students will remain in this club throughout their high school career, working their way up through the ranks of the club from kohai to sempai.  Their club mates will become their closest friends and mentors.  They will spend evenings, weekends, and holidays with their club.  As a multi-sport athlete and someone who could only have been involved in more after school activities if I had Hermione’s time turner, I can’t help but feel sad for the opportunities my students miss by having such a strict system.  But then I watch them interact with their club – see the camaraderie they have.  Closer than teammates, they are family.  And this alleviates some of my anxiety.  They may not be as well rounded or indulging in all their interests, but they are happy.  They have friends and support.  And boy are they good at that one thing they have chosen to focus on.  Like insanely good.  Just imagine if you had a whole team with the dedication and focus of the star on an American team.  They eat, sleep, and breath their club activity.  Even those not naturally gifted end up pretty darn impressive after years of constant, intensive practice.  But then it all ends halfway through their senior year.  All their effort is focused on doing their best in one summer tournament their third year of high school because after that they retire.

And so everyone is excited for the coming tournament.  Baseball is incredibly more popular in Japan, but our school is also really good at it.  Our pitcher has a great arm.  We have a strong batting lineup.  This should be a really good tournament for the team and the school.  The whole tournament will be televised, but about a hundred students and a handful of teachers will be allowed to play hooky for the afternoon and attend the team’s first game.  I am super excited to be invited to such an important event.  I want to know what all the fuss is about.  Baseball in Japan is a very different experience than baseball in America.

Unlike Texas, where I grew up and where football is king, baseball seems to be the apex sport in Japan.  But there is a fundamental difference between Japan and America when it comes to school sports.  In Japan there are no pep rallies, no homecoming, no Friday night lights.  Sports in Japan are for the athletes, not the spectator.  Games take place as part of tournaments; attended by a few parents and the members of the club not on the playing roster.  Unlike America where staff and students, parents and alumni wear school colors and cheer on their team, Japanese games are quite and subdued.  No concession stand, no cheering squad, no fanfare.  Students are usually busy with their own club activities.  Staff are accompanying their own clubs to events and games.  There are some parents and families, but the atmosphere is wholly different.  I found this out when I attended a basketball tournament earlier in the year.  My students were shocked and thrilled when they saw me.  As I said, staff don’t usually attend.  Not that there is room for them if they did.  The gym had no bleachers.  I ended up standing with a small group of parents in the catwalk that surrounded the gym floor.  I couldn’t see the score or the clock, kept on a small tabletop display.  Baskets were met with polite applause and disappointment was met with silence.  While I will admit this is better than the jeers and angry shouts at refs and players heard in the States, I couldn’t help feeling the whole affair was too subdued for a real game.  But it was not meant for fans.  It was meant for players only.

Baseball on the other hand, was completely different.  I boarded the bus with student fans, the brass band, and the Japanese equivalent of a cheer squad.  Excitement was palpable as students twittered excitedly while passing around tubes of sunscreen.  At the stadium we were met by a parent organization, much like a booster club.  We were given hats, towels, and fans with the school name and logo.  Waiting for us inside were large blue trashcans filled with ice and various drinks – canned coffee, sports drinks, water, tea, and soda – free for the taking.  They were provided by the boosters and available for all staff, students, and fans.  As we settled in, Okasans passed out megaphones – two per person.  These were blue, the school color, and meant for banging together.  Everything needed to show school pride had been provided!  Which was great because the students were still in their school uniforms of white shirts and plaid trousers or skirts.  No face paint or t-shirts in school colors.

The game started with bows rather than handshakes.  Then our boys took the field first.  I found it hard to watch the play, though.  My attention was constantly dragged away by the band and cheer squad of the other team.  Unlike American sports where cheering is usually suppressed till the end of a play and music only blasted during down time, the band and cheers never stop during a high school Japanese baseball game.  Each school chants, plays, and shakes their pompoms while their team bats.  The songs and chants include the batter’s name and are sometimes completely customized.  Members of the baseball club not on the playing roster don’t sit the bench in Japan, they lead the chants and dances from the stands.  They hold up signs with the batter’s name and the whole fan base stands and shouts as the batter faces off against the pitcher on the field below. It is a bit distracting to say the least.  Before I knew it, our team was running toward the dugout and our first batter was taking his practice swings on deck.

It was our side’s turn to stand and chant.  Ike, ike, ike, Takashi! Ose, ose, ose, Takashi! Ikotoba, Ta-Ka-Shi!  We cheered for each batter by name.  Beat our megaphones together.  Thrust them into the air and yelled with each hit.  Sighed and groaned with each out.

The game went quickly, but sadly not very well for our team.  In the first inning we had given up a run.  In the third, our pitcher seemed to be struggling.  Several walks filled the bases and allowed the other team to make second run on an error.  Our batters were having a tough time as well, getting only a piece of a pitch, enough to send the ball foul, but never enough to get all the way around the bases.  By the fourth inning we were down 3-0.  In the fifth inning, things really fell apart.  Our pitcher came out with a hand injury.  The relief pitcher, caught off guard and walking onto the mound with a full count, allowed a walk and several hits.  The fielders, frustrated by the course of the game, struggled.  By the end of the fifth it was 8-1.  Our team held them for the 6^th, but the game was called in the 7^th under Japanese mercy rules.  It was a blowout and a tragedy for the players and fans.

As a former athlete and coach, the end was inevitable.  One error let to two, led to three.  Frustration and tension running amuck.  Players losing heart.  I had seen it before.  I had lived it before.  But it didn’t make it hurt less.  And my own pain was nothing compared to the disappointment of the players – especially the third years.  We gathered in the trees outside the stadium.  The players wept openly as they apologized for the loss and thanked family, friends, and fans for their support.  Personally, I have shed many tears after an important loss, but always in the locker room or in the car after.  Never in public.  The openness of this emotional display was difficult to watch.  Don’t ever believe the Japanese are unemotional.  In many ways they are far more in touch with their feelings than us moody Americans.  Especially when it comes to the men.  The third year students tried to stem their tears for pictures.  Many just looked red faced and angry.  Others quickly wiped the tears away between takes.  This had been their last game as high school students.  Instead of the triumph they had worked so hard for, they had been eliminated in the first round.  They were devastated.

The bus ride back was a quite affair.  The sun, heat, and loss had robbed the students of their energy.  We rode in silence, all lost in our own thoughts.

While the outcome was far from what I hoped, I am still glad I got to see high school baseball Japanese style.  It was a strange and exhilarating experience.  So unlike baseball in America.